


Abandoned

by pocketmouse



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-01
Updated: 2008-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-22 16:51:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/240271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketmouse/pseuds/pocketmouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Owen Harper was eight years old the first time his mother ‘lost’ him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Abandoned

Owen Harper was eight years old the first time his mother ‘lost’ him.

While he was young and full of energy, it was still a long walk from the Tube stop to the Portobello Road Market, and all the walking around there besides. He’d grown tired, lagging behind a little, and finally stopped, fascinated by the tables with their arrays of tools, small and cunning, bright and shiny. When he turned around again, his mother wasn’t there.

He’d run through the streets of the market, whipping past displays of bright sari fabric and dark t-shirts, past stands with jewelry and clocks, books and vases, clocks and canes. He stumbled against an old man with a turban, smelling like spices and tobacco, and twisted his way through a string of teenagers in black clothing and spiked, ferocious hair and faces.

She was nowhere to be found. He trudged past the food stands, his stomach growling a little. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but it must have been _hours_ since he’d eaten. What if he was trapped here forever? He remembered the way old Mr. Greene down the block used to say he should be good, or he’d be sold to the Gypsies.

Did Gypsies eat children? What did Gypsies look like?

The shadows lengthened as he wandered, and he was growing more and more tired. He wanted to go _home_. He’d be good _forever_ , if his mother just wouldn’t sell him off to be eaten.

He collapsed in a slightly pathetic heap on a curb near the buskers. There weren’t too many people passing through here, and most of them were standing very still, not looking at him at all. He debated internally. If he looked lost and alone, maybe some nice family would take him home, and he’d have a room of his own and a dog and a ‘second chance’ and all those other things they talked about on the telly. But if he looked too pathetic, he might only be good to be eaten, and he didn’t want that.

He settled for sitting up a little, chin on his hands. His lower lip stuck out a little, but he wasn’t aware of it. He wondered if his mother would be sorry he was gone. He wondered if she would notice, or if she would just move to a nicer street, now that she didn’t have him to bother with. She said that sometimes, but he didn’t know what it meant. He supposed there must be streets with no children allowed, like the no-girls-allowed school Edward’s brother had been switched to.

“You’ve been here an awfully long time,” a voice boomed from above him, startling him. He looked up. “Are you lost?”

Owen shook his head. He knew where he was.

“Is your mum around somewhere, then?” The tall stranger continued. He looked nice enough, not in a police uniform. “You’re not here on your own then, are you?”

But he didn’t know what Gypsies did wear. “My mother’s here.” His eyes wandered away as he spoke, scanning the edges of the crowd again.

“Ah.” The man’s tone grew knowing and there was a scuffing noise, then he was sitting down on the curb, right next to him. “Which one is she?” he asked.

Owen hesitated. He couldn’t lie; what if the man wanted him to prove it? But he couldn’t tell him he was alone. He wished his mother would come back. He’d stop making so much noise, running around — he’d be just like the statues there.

“Tell you what,” the man said, voice soft. He had funny, curly hair and bright blue eyes. “You tell me your mum’s name, and I’ll see if I can’t find out where she is.”

He acquiesced quietly, but he knew it was a mistake the moment his mother showed up. She was all smiles for the man with the curly hair, but when her eyes turned to him, they flashed fire.

When she ‘lost’ him again the next month at the high street market, he didn’t say a word.


End file.
